


After the Fall

by MercuryPoisoning



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Blake runs away, Bumbleby - Freeform, Canon-Typical Violence, Don't say I didn't warn you, Eventual Romance, F/F, How Do I Tag, Hurt/Comfort, Insanity, Mental Instability, No Smut, No White Rose, Original Character Death(s), Rip Qrow, Ruby saves the day again, Swearing, Tragedy, Volume 4 (RWBY), Volume 5 (RWBY), What Have I Done, White Fang, Yang turns into Qrow, bear with me, but only mild insanity, tons of canon at the beginning, we're going to assume that Yang is of legal drinking age
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-03-06 20:23:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13418970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercuryPoisoning/pseuds/MercuryPoisoning
Summary: Ruby shoulders a burden she can't carry. Weiss loses herself in all the wrong ways. Blake runs back into hell. And Yang hits the bottom of the bottle a little too hard.United they stand. Divided, they fall harder than Beacon did when the light went out of the world...Alternate volume 4 / 5 with canon compliance in the beginning.





	1. Two Birds, One Stone

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there! You have accessed a Kind Of Really Bad Fanfiction. Please close this tab for your own safety and comfort.  
> *  
> *  
> *  
> Still here? Well, you asked for it :)
> 
> Okay, in all seriousness, before you start reading: excuse the slight narrative slog for the first four chapters. The story begins canon-compliant and branches out from there as the girls make alternate choices and choose different paths. Try not to think too hard about the timeframe; I shifted the canon timeline so I could jump into non-canon as soon as possible. ALSO: yes, Yang turns to alcohol in this! But don't even THINK about attacking me about her age! Yang is 17 at the start of RWBY, but since the canon passage of time is extremely unclear up to now (hopefully it's not just me?), I think it's safe to assume that she is either 17 or 18 when she goes looking for Raven. So - she is young, yes, but frankly that only makes her more susceptible to alcoholism. 
> 
> Fair warning that a major character death occurs in the first chapter. Please don't hunt me down. 
> 
> Again, do not read if you are uncomfortable with/triggered by substance abuse, strong language, violence, and death! :))))
> 
> Now let's get on with the story!

The ground trembles beneath Ruby’s boots. _Shuff-flump, shuff-flump_ go the dragging hooves of the monstrous Grimm bearing down on them; and the snaking arms of the thing on top of it writhe sickeningly upon the broken cobblestone of the ghost town. 

“Jeez,” Ruby exclaims, not liking the oppressive heaviness of the atmosphere. “What _is_ that thing?”

Next to her, Nora lets out a heavy exhale of breath. Ruby turns sharply to face her, acutely aware of the sudden shift away from Nora’s perpetual mood; indeed, Nora’s blue eyes are narrowed to slits, her shoulders tense, and Ruby gets the feeling that there is a story here that she hasn’t been told. Even more indicative of some past trauma was the way Ren stands next to Nora, his stance completely different from his partner’s. His arms hang limp at his sides and he watches the approaching Grimm with utter disbelief written on his normally withdrawn features.

Yet even as she watches, Nora is bringing Ren back to earth. Ruby can’t catch the hushed words that are exchanged, but she supposes it isn’t her place; in any case, Ren’s face soon hardens with resolve and he slides easily into a battle stance.

“That,” he says coldly, his tone loaded, “is a Nuckelavee.” _And I’ve seen it before_ seems to hang in the air after his words. Ruby exchanges a quick glance with Jaune and sees he is thinking along the same lines as she; whatever this thing has done to Ren and Nora in the past, now is the time to kill it. Questions could come later.

Suddenly, with a tremendous roar, the thing on the horse-like Grimm’s back struggles upright. The whole scene becomes somehow more awful, but Ruby fights back her apprehension - she has to be _strong_.

“Jaune!” she yells, hefting Crescent Rose preparatorily. “Get Uncle Qrow out of here!”

“Right!” Jaune swings Qrow’s listless form into his arms and runs. Of course, he becomes the Nuckelavee’s first target - one long arm swings down on the two men and Jaune dodges it by a hair’s width. Ruby’s heart leaps to her throat. The Nuckelavee springs into a blur of action and begins a headlong gallop towards Jaune and Qrow - Ruby can’t move, can’t make her muscles obey her, can scarcely hear over the rushing of blood in her ears - Ren lets out a wild yell and drops to a crouch and -

She blinks. The Nuckelavee skids to a stop and lets out a confused bellow, swinging its heads around in bewilderment. And then it swings around and sets its sights on the rest of team RNJR - or rather, JNRR. Ruby huffs. She stands by her version of their team name - it’s _so_ much cooler than RNJR!

Snapping herself back to the present, Ruby shoots Ren a grateful look before springing into action. Her yell is accompanied by Crescent Rose’s rapid series of retorts; she is aware of Ren and Nora launching themselves forward alongside her. Ren’s emotions seem to pulsate from him in waves. This is the last observation Ruby makes before one of the arms hits her flat on the ribs and she is flung to earth, Crescent Rose spinning from her grasp as she hits the stone and a dull pain pulsates through her aura.

Groaning, Ruby pushes herself up in time to see Ren skid across the cobblestone towards Nora and hear her yell of utter rage. Ruby winces and snatches up Crescent Rose before activating her semblance and darting to their side in a burst of rose petals. Right on cue, Jaune pops out from behind a large, decrepit structure and dashes over to them, drawing Crocea Mors as he does so. His shield unfolds like a flower in bloom. “Move in a circle!” he yells. “Keep running _around_ it!”

Ren is back on his feet. Ruby, feeling the need for some ironic relief, salutes at Jaune as the four spread out and begin running. And at the same time, the Nuckelavee begins to whirl its arms like some deadly pinwheel.

Ruby hisses in frustration. It isn’t going to work. With a cry she fires herself into the air and rushes down at the top part of the Grimm, Crescent Rose raised above her head, poised to strike - and then the sickening sensation of falling as she is knocked to earth yet again. She senses the worrisome flicker of her aura and swears.

Things proceed accordingly. RNJR - or rather, _JNRR_ \- can’t get the upper hand. At some point Ren and Nora disappear; Ruby isn’t sure how long they can keep this up for. In the back of her mind is Qrow - she cannot not stop worrying about him - they have to _kill_ this thing before someone else gets hurt -

“Ruby!” Jaune yells. “Over here!”

Gasping for air, Ruby speeds towards the sound of his voice, dodging the vicious arm. Ren and Nora emerge from beneath a building and join them. Ruby can feel a shift in the emotion hanging around those two and she eyes them quizzically, her curiosity aroused.

“Alright,” Jaune commands huskily. “Ruby and I will take care of its arms.”

“I’ll take care of the horse!” Nora chimes in, her eyes blazing.

The three of them turn to Ren, and in his eyes Ruby sees a fire twin to the one in Nora’s. “And I’ll take care of the rest,” he says, his voice steel.

Conviction renewed, the four leap into action, and Ruby finally feels confidence settle in her stomach. They could _do_ this. Her vision narrows and she focuses her entire being on putting together one move after another - the first arm is swiftly secured to the cobblestone under Crescent Rose’s blade and Ruby feels a rush of triumph as her weapon drives through the Nuckelavee’s flesh. It howls, the rider thrashing and spitting flames. Ruby smirks when she sees Jaune thundering towards its other arm. The whip-like limb whirls towards the blonde figure and suddenly Ren is soaring towards it, Jaune’s shield held before him as he slams the arm into the ground. Jaune reaches him and raises his blade high above his head, brings it singing towards the pinned arm -

That’s when something goes wrong. Ruby feels it rather than sees it - maybe there was something askew with the way Ren was lying over the thrashing arm, maybe Jaune waited a millisecond too long to impale it, maybe Ruby wasn’t holding down her side firmly enough, maybe they hadn’t timed _anything_ right - but suddenly Ren is flung upwards, Jaune is smacked down, and the arm swings a cutting arc around and demolishes an entire crumbling building in one blow. Rubble crashes down deafeningly/ Ruby faintly hears Ren’s roar of fury as he and Jaune launch themselves back into action; she is dimly aware of them re-securing the thrashing arm; the bellow of the Nuckelavee. Her mind is blank save for the dots which connect much too rapidly. That building, which is now a mere mountain of shattered beams and crushed walls… that building that Jaune had come running out from behind after he’d carried Qrow to safety… _Uncle Qrow_ …

Minutes slip by indefinitely. Ruby loses track of the battle, her grip on Crescent Rose’s hilt slick with sweat, her heart pounding in her ears. She cannot focus on anything but that building, cannot feel anything but the pounding fear and the _need_ for this battle to be over. And then it _is_ over. Silence spreads over the courtyard as the Nuckelavee fades away, Ren’s hunched form standing over its core.

Terror in her throat, Ruby releases Crescent Rose and disappears in a burst of rose petals, reappearing in the ruins of the building. “Qrow!” she yells frantically, somehow summoning a Yang-like strength to heft supports and giant flakes of plaster out of her way. “Uncle Qrow!”

Nora, Ren and Jaune are at her side in a instant, helping wordlessly. Intermittent shouts of “Qrow!” ring through the dead air, growing increasingly desperate. Ruby fights and fights against the tears, nearly blinded by the overwhelming fear consuming her. Nora is destroying large parts of the rubble with Magnhild, clearing places that Qrow might be trapped under, and suddenly she screams, drawing the instant attention of her three companions.

Ren and Jaune rush to her side and all three stare down at something that is hidden from Ruby’s line of sight. She hears Jaune’s gasp. Her heart soars maniacally; Uncle Qrow is alive, he’s here, he’s still here -

In an instant she is standing in front of her friends, looking down at her uncle’s motionless form.

He is crumpled on his stomach, blood pooling around his chest and head. Part of his bandage has come away and his cape is somehow in more tatters than it was before. Ruby cannot see his face. No longer aware of her semblance activating, she flashes to his side and grips his shoulder, pushing him over. A huge gash just below his hairline is leaking blood, and his nose is broken. Ruby chokes on her own inhale and puts her head to his chest.

It is still.

Ruby sits bolt upright and the entire world seems to stand still in apprehension. She twists around to face her friends; Jaune and Ren stand motionless, horrified, but Nora steps forwards and rests a hand hesitantly on Ruby’s shoulder. Suddenly reclaiming her power of speech, Ruby grabs Nora’s hand and releases it again when she realized her own are shaking uncontrollably. “Nora,” she said. “Do something. Can’t you shock someone’s heart into restarting? Isn’t that what they do? Isn’t it? I swear I’ve seen that done before. Nora - _hurry_! - ”

Nora just stares back, wide-eyed, and Ruby could _slap_ her. She looks desperately up at Ren and Jaune and sees the same expressions on their faces. A cold feeling rushes from her head to her stomach. She sits back heavily. “Guys…” she whispers, needing something, _anything_ , to break the silence of understanding that was circling around like a disease - they didn’t get it - how could they be so _quiet_? - Ruby turns violently back to Qrow and shakes his shoulders once, twice, three times. There is a piercing ringing in her ears. Nora takes gentle hold of her arms and pries her away from her uncle.

“Ruby,” Nora says gently. “He’s gone.”

The colour seems to drain our of Nora’s hair and eyes. Her skirt. Magnhild goes dull. Ren and Jaune fade out. Everything in Ruby’s world loses colour in that moment.

A blazing grief rears its vicious head inside her. Ruby screams and loses feeling everywhere. And Nora finds herself suddenly empty-handed, eddying rose petals swirling around her, Qrow Branwen’s lifeless form at her feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for more if you want to. Let me know what you think while you're at it!
> 
> Sorry not sorry about Qrow :)
> 
> ~MercuryPoisoning


	2. Who's in Control?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's back... BACK AGAIN... 
> 
> Hopefully, if you're reading this, it means you enjoyed the first chapter! Feel free to enjoy this one equally :))

Weiss stares at the empty expanse of her heavy bedroom door, her father’s taunting words hanging in the air. Her mind reels. No longer… the heiress? If she isn’t inheriting her family’s company, what is she even doing here? Does Father truly believe that Whitley will keep the family name strong? Whitley is a spoiled, jealous creature, and Weiss knows it - he’s jealous of his sisters’ abilities, their power, their opportunities. Weiss smirks to herself ever so slightly; maybe the kid deserves to be the Schnee heir. After all, he’s really got nothing else going for him. 

Yet, to her fury, Weiss cannot stop the tears that spring to her eyes. It isn’t even that she really cares about her family’s Dust company - but she cares about the Schnee name. She’s worked _so_ hard to uphold her legacy and make her family proud. To be told that it counts for nothing… _everything_ she went through. Everything Team RWBY went through. All the _sacrifices_ they made to ensure the safety of the world, even for just a while longer.

No one in Atlas can comprehend. They sit on their high horses, with their money and servants and world-renowned surnames, and they don’t realize. They cannot see the chaos bearing down on them, the chaos already rampaging through communities less fortunate than they are. 

Weiss’ tears turn angry when she remembers the charity banquet. 

Suddenly she sits bolt upright. She rubs tears from her cheeks in frustration. The charity banquet… her Summons. _Her Summons_! Seized with a sudden exhilarated inspiration, Weiss leaps to her feet and begins rearranging her room. The bed is pushed over to clear a large space next to her window. Small tables are shoved haphazardly towards the door. Satisfied with her work, Weiss sits back down on her bed and takes a long silver case onto her lap. 

 _Clack-clack_. The clasps come away and inside, nestled in a protective indent, is Myrtenaster. 

Her blade glints up at her, like a wink. Weiss grins back. She hefts the rapier out of its case and slides fresh dust in, her excitement growing with every soft click. Rising to her feet, she gazes down at the blade and whispers, “I missed you.”

Weiss finds the centre of the space she’s cleared. Taking a deep breath, she spins Myrtenaster a few times in hand before bringing it up and shutting her eyes. She takes another breath and lets herself relax into her semblance, feeling the surge of energy course through her as a large, spinning glyph comes to life at her feet. 

She opens her eyes and slams Myrtenaster point-first onto the cold floor... and lets measured amounts of pent-up anger seep into the flow of power. She imagines the ignorant nobility at the charity banquet. Her father’s unforgiving eyes. Her mother disappearing into the bottom of the bottle. The Grimm that destroyed her school. The war that tore her away from her best friends - her _family_.

Slowly, from the centre of the glyph, a blade of ice begins to grow. 

“Hello, sister.”

The blade shrivels and the glyph fades. Weiss squeezes her eyes shut and takes several calming breaths, trying to still the angry thudding of her heart. 

Whitley is leaning on her doorframe, and Weiss battles to control her emotions. “Leave,” she says bluntly. 

He sighs in mock disappointment. “How hurtful! And here I am, about to offer you a favour.”

Weiss does not break her stance. She stares at the point where Myrtenaster’s tip meets the floor, and she sees her hand shaking with a rage that is beginning to scare her. Her breathing picks up. 

“Father’s taking me into town to meet some of his business partners,” Whitley continues smugly. “I thought I’d see if you wanted me to pick you up something,  since you’re… well… _stuck here_.” 

Weiss slowly stands upright and turns to meet his eyes for the first time. She can feel herself shaking with the effort of self-control… she can’t help but wonder if this is what Yang feels. This terrifying, all-consuming rage at everyone and everything - Weiss could _kill_ Whitley. Sickening, fake pity seeps from his beady eyes. 

She tilts her chin up ever-so-sightly and regards her brother with utter disdain. “Are you jealous? Is that it?”

Whitley’s gaze flickers almost imperceptibly before his cool, taunting exterior regains control - but Weiss doesn’t miss it. She advances across the room towards him, gripping Myrtenaster’s hilt so tightly her knuckles turn whiter than they already are. Blood rushes in her ears. “Is that why you hate me?” she continues, faux-understanding creeping into her tone. “Are you _jealous_ of my abilities - of Winter’s?”

“Hmm. No, not really.” Whitley ponders it mockingly, moving to stand in the centre of her doorway. _Perfect_. Weiss’ gaze zeroes in. 

“Well, maybe you should be,” she whispers and before he can even react, she strikes him with a spinning glyph and he is knocked violently backwards, flying off his feet and landing with a satisfyingly painful-sounding thud on the opposite side of the hallway. Weiss stalks over to him, never breaking her poised stride, and feels the shaking subside when she sees the terror in his eyes. She nudges his chin with her blade and he squeaks like a caged mouse. 

“Get out of here,” she suggests coldly. “You wouldn’t want to meet Daddy’s business friends covered in blood, now, would you?”

She steps back and Whitley scrambles to his feet, running off without another word. 

Weiss smirks to herself. _What a useless coward._ He _should_ be running from her.

Squaring her shoulders, Weiss stalks back to the space by her window and resets her stance. She exhales shakily and wills the shaking out of herself, and a glyph glows into existence before her once again. Weiss snaps her eyes open and set her sights on the image adorning the wall across from her. A knight… _her_ Knight.

Power surges through her dizzyingly and she finds herself bending before it, giving way to the forces inside herself which she’s allowed to remain dormant for so long. It twists through her like a hurricane and she feels a flash of fear. For one fleeting moment, she is _afraid_ of herself. Freezing rain drums on the windows - or is it just her heart?

Weiss raises her head. 

Before her, a enormous knight stands, sunlight refracting off his icy form blindingly. His huge sword glints; he plants it firmly before himself. And he lowers himself to one knee, his head bowed. Weiss looks upon her Knight and feels a bone-deep triumph. He is _hers_. If only Winter could see her now! 

Weiss loses track of how long she gazes at him before she lets him disappear. An inexplicable pang of loss follows his disappearance, and Weiss grows keenly aware of the silence of the mansion, the silence of Atlas, the silence of all of Remnant. Everything seems to be holding its breath these days, on edge, as if waiting - but waiting for what? For the next Grimm attack? For the next uprising of the White Fang? For the end of the world?

Even here, in her lonely chamber, Weiss waits and waits and _waits_ and can do nothing beyond that. She grits her teeth in frustration - Remnant is falling apart under their feet, her Team is who knows where - Winter can’t be reached with the CCTS down - everyone is preparing for _war_ and Weiss is sitting in her room, grounded. She, Weiss Schnee, the ex-heiress to the Schnee Dust Company. _Grounded_.

Suddenly that all-encompassing Yang-like fury is back, and Weiss barely registers her actions; she obeys the power within her, and is suddenly no longer the one casting glyphs. They cast _her_. Her breathing is heavy when at length she looks up and finds a smoking, icy Grimm standing before her, its tusks bowed to the floor in some kind of bizarre submission. 

Weiss is completely bewildered for several dumb seconds, but she recalls the way that Winter conjures Grimm like this effortlessly - she thinks back to the training sessions she used to have with her sister, pitted against hoards of Grimm that sprung from Winter’s semblance like angered bees from a disturbed hive. The only problem here is that Weiss can’t remember how she’s created this one - she’d been completely at the mercy of her own powers. Her memory is a blank. She shudders slightly. _No_. _Must remain in control. Mustn’t let this get the best of me_. I’m _the one in control. I am_ in control.

The Grimm waits, swinging its heavy head slightly from side-to-side, glistening in the half-light streaming through the curtains. Weiss takes a deep, shuddering breath. And then she channels every ounce of suppressed rage, every morsel of unbridled emotion simmering in her heart - and with a cry she launches herself at her Summons and slices its head off with one sweeping blow. 

And then - _pain_. 

Myrtenaster sails from her grip and Weiss screams, though she is hardly aware of it - every fibre of her being burns with such intense agony she feels certain her head is splitting in two. Her vision goes white. Far, far away, someone is screaming continuously. She hits the floor and feels nothing but fire.

After what seems like an eternity, though is really only a few minutes, the screaming stops. Weiss’ vision fades back from white. The wracking pain subsides, and she finds herself sprawled on the cold floor, shuddering violently and gasping for air. It takes her a moment to realize she is crying. 

A face swims into view after as she lies there, trying to make sense of things; a concerned, blessedly familiar face. “Klein,” she rasps, mustering up a smile. She struggles up to her elbows and pushes herself into a sitting position, wincing at every hasty movement. Instantly he is at her side, one arm around her shoulders, his soft tone next to her ear.

“Miss Schnee!” he says, evidently worried out of his mind. “What is going on here? Are you alright? What happened? Here - “ he hands her a handkerchief and she takes her time drying her eyes, waiting for her breath to slow down, collecting her thoughts.

“I… hurt myself,” she manages finally.

He starts a little and his thick brows draw together sharply. “Miss Schnee - “

“No, no, not like that,” she adds hastily. “Really, Klein, I’m alright. I just… made a mistake. But I’m fine now. See?” And to prove her point, Weiss hops to her feet and forces the shuddering out of existence. She puts on a huge grin and reaches a hand down to help him up. 

“Well,” Klein says doubtfully, “If you’re certain, Miss Schnee.”

“I’m certain. You can go.”

“Well, alright. Do call me if you need anything at all, though, okay? Anything at all.”

“I will. Thanks for looking out for me, Klein.”

“I always am, Miss Schnee.”

Weiss studies his retreating figure without really seeing him. She truly had hurt herself, albeit indirectly - she understands that now. What was she thinking? Of course killing one’s own Summons is bound to have some sort of repercussion. How stupid to overlook such an obvious thing. She wouldn’t make the same mistake again. _Control_. 

Wringing her hands together to discourage the leftover tremors, Weiss locates Myrtenaster and picks it up, running two fingers along the cool, razor-sharp blade. She watches her distorted reflection in the metal. 

She knows what she has to do.

Weiss fairly flies across the room to her door, throwing it open just in time to catch Klein before he turns a corner at the end of the corridor. “Klein!” she shouts, never breaking her stride as she runs to him. “Wait!”

He turns and smiles warmly at her. “What is it, Miss Schnee?”

Weiss studies his expectant face, sees utter sincerity in his kind eyes. He’ll do anything for her, and she knows it - through every break, every destruction in her family he has always been a constant pillar. Over the years, Klein has somehow become her strength, her safety - and now, her only means of getting the hell out of Atlas. Weiss takes a deep breath.

“Klein, I need a favour…”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hehehehe altered canon of THAT chapter to kick off Weiss' side of this story. Shit's gonna get crazy with our fave ice queen so hang onto your hats ;)
> 
> Feedback is welcomed and stuff! 
> 
> ~MercuryPoisoning


	3. Roasted Bananas

Wind and sea spray whip at Blake’s face and hair. She turns her face to the sun and flattens her ears, enjoying the breeze on them and the absence of her bow. Gulls follow the Pride’s progress, swooping and squawking on white wings; Blake watches them soar and feels a vague sort of freedom. The sea and the sky intoxicate her deepest desires, and emotion hums to life inside her.

She quells it by focusing on the anger and frustration she feels towards the blonde Faunus next to her. He’s nattering away about something and Blake isn’t listening - he’s not supposed to be here. She didn’t need people to drag around, didn’t need more people to worm their way into her heart and realize too late that she’s a ticking time bomb.

Yang…

“…Blake?” Sun Wukong’s over-enthusiastic tone interrupts her thoughts; she turns her back to the sea and sighs heavily.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Blake says bluntly, not meeting his eyes.

“What?” he claims indignantly. “Who’s gonna save you the next time a sea Grimm shows up then, eh?”

Blake glowers at him. He raises his hands in surrender, grinning impishly at her. “Sorry, ma’am, I was merely jesting.”

Blake lets a whoosh of exasperated air escape her nose. “Haha. Now go home.” It isn’t that she doesn’t want his company - quite to the contrary, company like Sun would be a great distraction from her own thoughts. No, she’d give anything to have brought him with her voluntarily; yet she cannot ignore the fact that she is a liability. If Sun stays with her he’ll be hurt, or killed, or maybe worse… Blake has never been one to ignore experience. Experience teaches the most important of lessons, and in her experience people only got damaged by her existence.

If Yang’s arm is proof of anything, it’s that. Well… that, and the immense need to erase Adam Taurus from the face of Remnant.

But it hurts to think about these things.

Sun is scrutinizing her with his head tilted to one side, his tail twitching back and forth in a curious manner. She can’t meet his eyes, so instead she focuses on the tug of ocean wind that drags her eyes into slits and flattens the tips of her cat ears. Blake isn’t a huge fan of water, but she loves the sea in theory - it’s like you can smell the entire universe on the wind, see the whole sky beyond the horizon. It’s so… endless.

“You’re thinking too hard again.” Sun interrupts her musings, sliding an arm over her shoulders.

Blake bristles in irritation. “I’m not. I’m _wishing_ very hard that you would stop following me around like a lost puppy!”

As soon as the words are out, she feels guilt. A hurt expression flashes briefly across Sun’s face, and he retracts his arm without argument. A heavy silence stretches out between them, like spiderwebs that resist a gale’s force. Sun ends up breaking it, of course.

“Well… where exactly are you planning to go?”

Blake doesn’t want to tell him. She knows he’d never approve - maybe even drug her and take her back to her team in a box. Well. She wouldn’t mind the box… but still, it's not ideal. No time for boxes at this point. She pretends not to hear him for a good five minutes, floundering to come up with a plausible lie - yet if she lies, she'll have to follow through on it, at least partially… shake him off somewhere along the way… but also keep him out of danger… fuck! Why did he have to be so _clingy_?

“Are you going to track down Adam?” Sun says in a significantly lower voice.

If Blake were a full cat, her tail would bristle. As it is, her cat ears flatten themselves back against her skull and her heart drops. _Crap. Crap crap crap!_

“You are, aren’t you,” he presses.

“So what?” Blake bursts out angrily. “It’s none of your business. Why are you still here??”

“Blake,” Sun hisses. “You can’t!”

“Can’t what?”

“Can’t take down the White Fang on your own!”

Blake lets out an extremely long exhale. “I know, Sun.”

He throws up his hands in exasperation. “Well, it’s a good thing I’m here then, isn’t it.”

Maybe it is. Blake allows herself five seconds of comfort in the knowledge that he’s watching her back, before the anxiety takes over again.

“I’m not going to take the White Fang down on my own,” she says carefully. “Well… not exactly. I guess you could say I’m only going for him.”

Sun stares at her incredulously. “You think you can reason with _Adam Taurus_? You think he’d listen to reason - to _you_ \- ?”

“I _think_ I know better than you do how that man’s twisted mind works,” Blake interrupts. “I’m not going to reason with him. I’m going to kill him.”

The late afternoon sun is in their eyes. A short distance away from where they lean on the rail, a stocky man conceals his face behind a book. A child’s wail drifts down from the upper deck; motherly scolding follows. Gulls circle above and disappear into the glare of the sun that is making Blake go blind. She shuts her eyes, hugs herself and does her best to shut out Sun’s presence at her side.

***

Blake knows that some people experience disassociation, or feelings that nothing is real. It’s usually a feeling of apathy accompanied by the sense that past events and trauma happened to someone other than yourself, which in turn opens the door to anxiety about _who am I?_

She knows that this is something Sun experiences often, and even though he’s only mentioned it to her a few times, she can pick up on it when it gets bad. Of course she did a bit of reading and discovered that disassociation, or even sometimes the misplacement of memories, can stem from clinical depression, PTSD, or sever traumas. As for herself… well, Blake has never felt as though the past does not exist. Her past follows around everywhere; lurking in her shadow, twining through her semblance, killing the people around her. Her past is not even truly the past. It is the now, the later, the long-term state of her being.

It’s funny how everyone deals with the past in their own way. Yang channels her past into her emotions, using it to charge her semblance and kindle her inner fire. Yet Blake knows that a lot of things sit around in Yang’s heart and never get translated into fire; rather, they fester like infected wounds and hurt Yang from deep inside.

Yang…

Blake shakes her head violently. She thinks too much these days.

Sun is still hanging around. He hasn’t gone anywhere, but he’s quieter. He doesn’t probe her for answers or try to analyze her feelings. Blake wonders how long this will last.

It drives her insane the way he always has to know her mind.

***

They disembark at the port of Menagerie. The bustle of island life, the murmur of the sea, the chatter of sailors and the distant waft of a barbecue strike Blake with an aching sense of familiarity and nostalgia. Her shoulders are tense, her thoughts jumpy.

Sun, on the other hand, can’t see enough. He swings his head from side to side as they enter the market district, pummelling Blake with questions and spouting amazement and wonder at the sights and the people. Blake tunes him out. It’s a wonderful place, to be sure, but she would sooner get the hell beyond it before she runs into anyone she knows.

She doesn’t need a confrontation right now. Least of all with her parents.

The two companions stop at one of the vendors to purchase some roasted bananas (a result of Sun’s loud declarations of starvation). The bananas are heavily sweet and a little too hot, and they taste like home. But Blake doesn’t have a home, not anymore. She picks at one slice and lets Sun take out his hunger on the rest.

“So, what’s the plan?” Sun wonders after he’s eaten his fill. They’ve stopped at a picnic table near the water, and Blake is doing her best to blend in with the scenery as familiar faces pass by on the street above them.

“The plan is to get out of here,” she says, rather bluntly.

“Oh.” Sun is silent for a fleeting moment. “Aren’t we going to go see your parents?”

Blake rounds on him, fed up. “No,” she hisses. “We are absolutely NOT going to see my parents. We are taking the backroads out of this place and going to find Adam Taurus.”

He regards her for a moment, something unfathomable in his eyes. Blake takes a step back.

“I-I mean,” she stumbles, “there doesn’t need to be a ‘we’ - you can leave now, while it’s still safe - in fact I’d prefer if you - “

“Enough,” he interrupts. “Of course there’s a ‘we.’ Stop worrying about my safety, Blake. It’s not your concern. I’m not gonna go all Yang Xiao Long on you!”

Dead silence rings out in the wake of his angry words. Blake suddenly can’t breathe. Her body is standing by the water with Sun Wukong and the faint scent of roasted bananas is in the air, but in her mind she is among the rubble of a once-proud building, and Yang is throwing herself in front of Adam Taurus and Yang is screaming out in pain and Yang is unconscious on the ground and there is blood blood blood BLOOD EVERYWHERE -

Sun is shaking her shoulders and yelling something, but Blake can’t hear him. Her vision swims and the earth rocks beneath her. She can hear her breath, harsh and way too fast, in her own ears.

“Blake… Blake… snap out of it,” Sun calls to her from far away.

Gradually the earth begins to flatten and still, and Sun’s face comes into focus. He’s very close to her, concern emanating off his features and burning her upon contact.

“Blake, Blake,” he says. “Are you okay? Say something to me - fuck, I didn’t mean - I didn’t - “

Blake shakes off his hands and sinks into a crouch, wrapping her arms around herself and trying to stop shaking. She shuts her eyes and focuses on her breath. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. Sun doesn’t take the hint. He crouches next to her and wraps his shirt around her shoulders, still caught up in a fit of rambling apologies.

“S-shut up,” Blake says, the words choking themselves past an ugly lump building in her throat. “N-n-not your fault… I… I’m just being stupid…”

He pulls her against him, his breath hissing out over her flattened cat ears. “You’re not stupid,” he says lamely.

The lump swells and her eyes prickle, and suddenly she is crying about nothing and everything at once. On the street above them, a vendor’s yell cuts over the crowd.

“Roasted bananas! Come get your roasted bananas…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello to anyone who is reading this trash! Sorry this chapter took forever, I wrote a bunch of the chapters out of order and I still needed to smooth out some details about Blake's side of the story. Stay tuned for some heavy Yang content in the near future. 
> 
> ~MercuryPoisoning


	4. Something Cold

The soothing familiarity of Bumblebee’s engine humming to life makes Yang smile. She feels like she hasn’t smiled in years, so this must be a good sign, at least. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking. 

Yang kills the engine and turns around to see Taiyang leaning against the doorframe, watching her with something unfathomable in his eyes. He smiles when she meets his gaze but she can see a sort of sadness behind it. A breeze whistles into the garage and circles through her hair before taking off again, and in its wake the birds begin to sing in a subdued manner. 

“Yang,” Tai starts.

“Dad,” she interrupts. “I’m okay. I’ll be safe. I’ll find Ruby and keep her safe, too. I promise.”

“I’m not worried about Ruby. I’m worried about _you_.” He shuts his eyes for a long moment. “Yang… you’re not going after Ruby first, are you.”

“No.” She lets out a breath and feels a familiar exhaustion tug at the posture of her shoulders. “I’m not. You know where I’m going.” _Somewhere I tried to go once before._

“Yes,” he says, and offers nothing more, but his eyes are so incredibly sad. Yang can’t bear to look, can’t bear to be reminded of the baggage attached to her mission, needs to focus on something other than the aching despondency in her chest. She _can’t_ let that slow her down. _One step at a time_ , she tells herself, over and over. Like a prayer. 

She raises her hands and flexes the mechanical one. The real one is trembling and she snatches it, squeezes the shaking into oblivion. 

“How’s the arm?” says Tai’s voice from behind her.

“It’s alright,” she says, honest about something for once. “It’s weird, but… it’s almost starting to feel like a part of me now. Sometimes I forget that it’s a replacement.” She chuckles grimly. “I guess that’s a good thing.”

“Yeah…” he sighs. “I would say that it is.”

Yang turns to face him, sudden, unwelcome emotion rising up inside her. “Dad…” she says, and then her voice fails her. He holds open his arms and she stumbles into them, burying her face in his shoulder and biting back tears. He smells like sandalwood and sweat. He hasn’t shaved in too long; the stubble tickles her forehead. His arms arc around her and suddenly she feels like a little girl again, waking up from a nightmare and running into Daddy’s bedroom, in tears. Yang doesn’t want to leave. Ever. 

 _But you have to,_ a voice in her head reminds her. _You can’t hide forever._

 _I know_. Yang takes a deep breath of Tai’s sandalwood scent and breaks out of his arms, unable to meet his eyes. But he takes her shoulders and holds her at arm’s length and eventually she raises her eyes and finds him smiling. “You’ll always have a home to return to here,” he says softly. “Remember that, my sunny little dragon.”

She cannot muster a smile in return. Tai plants a soft kiss on her forehead and releases her shoulders, and Yang turns back to Bumblebee. Mechanically, she dons Ember Celica. The yellow metal smirks at her, almost taunting. _Live up to your reputation_ , it seems to say. _Coward_. 

Aviators on. Bumblebee hums to life again. Yang swings herself up and revs the engine. Tai salutes at her and steps out of the way. 

Yang salutes back before she leaves him in the dust. 

It’s a bright day. The sky is clear and everything green looks a little greener than usual. The sun filtering through the leaves paints the road in golden blotches that shift and blur beneath Bumblebee’s wheels; Yang tilts her head to the sky and the sunlight hits her face in streaks. It’s warm, but the warmth is only skin-deep - like when you have a fever and you bury yourself in blankets until you sweat buckets, yet you’re still freezing. Yang can’t remember exactly when she started feeling so cold. 

But she’s pretty sure it started when Ruby told her that Blake had run. Again.

 _Stop it_ , she tells herself firmly. _Don’t think about it. There’s nothing you can do._

That’s right. Blake made her choice. So why did it hurt so much to think about her?

Yang shakes her head violently and steps on the gas a little harder. 

But her thoughts won’t die - they stay with her all through her solitary pilgrimage and not even Bumblebee’s growling can drown them out, let alone remedy the growing winter inside her.

***

Yang knows she’s close when she pulls up in front of a little seedy-looking bar on the edge of a village hemmed in by forests. Some nagging premonition urges her to push onward, but her sensible side reasons that she needs to speak to locals before proceeding. In any case, she’s hot, tired, starved for human contact, sick of her own mind and dreadfully thirsty. 

The bar is empty save for an old bartender, who is cleaning glasses and distinctly avoiding his only company: a scruffy thug slouched in the corner who looks, if possible, even seedier than the place itself. Yang ignores him and makes a beeline for the bartender, plopping heavily onto a stool and letting her elbows flop onto the hardwood counter. 

“Something cold,” she says bluntly. 

The bartender eyes her curiously. “Aren’t ye a bit young tuh be hangin’ round here, eh?”

Yang opens her mouth to deliver some kind of sarcasm - (he thinks _she_ wants _alcohol_? She’s hardly eighteen) - but something stops her halfway there. Maybe… maybe she _does_ want alcohol. Yang is well acquainted with the way it burns your throat and insides, not entirely different from the way her semblance burns to life when it is kindled by her rage. 

Before she can tell herself how stupid she’s being, Yang squares her shoulders and looks the man dead in the eye, raising one casual eyebrow and pushing her aviators down the bridge of her nose a little for the maximum coolness effect. “Let me rephrase that - something cold and _strong_.”

He looks noticeably intimidated and takes up a clean glass without a word. Yang slips off her glasses in a satisfied manner and folds the arms in, releasing  little breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. 

“Ahahaha!” Yang starts at the sudden exclamation from the thug in the corner. “Of course she’s old enough to drink! You look like a regular huntress… and a _beauty_ at that.”

His words are slurred, and Yang feels a deep stab of irritation. She doesn’t look at him. 

“I’m good,” she says tersely. “Thanks, pal.”

“Seriously! Not too bulky, not too lean; you’re - “

“ _Just right_ ,” Yang finishes for him, rolling her eyes wearily. “Yup. Like I said, I’m good.”

He comes right up to her, leaning in close. His breath reeks of alcohol. 

“And your hair…” He reaches one hand towards her head, and Yang’s patience snaps. 

She snatches his wrist, halting its progress, and finally turns to look at him. Her semblance roars to life. Her eyes burn. Her vision narrows in on his surprised face, his exposed teeth; encompassed by single-minded fury, she draws back and hits him squarely in the jaw with her mechanical arm. She hears a sharp, sickening crack and sees a tooth fly from his mouth. The force of her punch sends him flying.

The thug sails out the door and hits the ground with a bellow of pain before rolling out of Yang’s line of sight. The red fades from her eyes and her shoulders slump, a sigh escaping her; she pivots on her heel and returns to her stool, brushing her hands off. A shot of amber liquid is waiting, winking at her invitingly.

“Whiskey,” the bartender grunts. “on thuh house. Thanks fer that, by thuh way. Bloke’s been causin’ me a load o’ trouble lately.”

Yang nods at him distractedly, extends her real hand towards the whiskey, and curses inwardly. In smooth motions that have become second nature in the past few weeks, she grips her real wrist with her mechanical hand to still its shaking, closes her eyes, and takes one deep breath.

Okay. _I’m okay. I’m_ okay.

Yang stares at the amber liquid in the glass and it stares right back. It seems to beckon. She remembers... When was the last time she had alcohol? Recently, with Taiyang. It was wine. It burned faintly and made her feel warm inside. For one fleeting moment. Her thoughts dwell on Strawberry Sunrise. 

The bartender is watching her curiously, and Yang fights to keep her expression blank. Tentatively, she raises the glass to her lips and takes a sip. And it burns. It burns away the cold inside her. _Good_. 

Sudden determination overcomes her and she knocks back the rest of the shot in one go, revelling in this feeling of burning, this fire which has somehow died since Ruby's departure. Yang hates it. Never in her life has she been so persistently cold, so utterly empty. And yet... the whiskey somehow _fixes_ that. 

Wait. No. What is she doing? Her hand shakes and she grabs it, inhales, exhales. What the fuck? she demands of herself. What are you thinking? 

She isn't going to just sit here and become Uncle Qrow. Or something. She sets down the glass with more force than necessary. 

“So,” says the bartender, cutting into her spiralling thoughts. “What is a young missie like yourself doin’ round these parts?”

“…I’m… looking… for someone,” Yang replies vaguely. The empty glass smirks at her. 

He chuckles. “Not many people come out ‘ere. Too far from thuh kingdoms. Only person worth notin’ is… well… Raven - “

“Raven Branwen,” Yang interjects, an icy feeling gripping her heart. 

“Well - er - yes.” 

“Thanks again,” she says abruptly. “I’ll be going.” 

“Now - wait a moment, missie - ye don’t intend to be goin’ after bandits, do ye?” the bartender calls after her, sounding quite offset. Yang raises a hand in farewell without turning around, and steps out into the later afternoon sunshine. Bumblebee is waiting for her, steel glinting comfortingly. Yang slips on her aviators, swings herself onto her bike and revs the engine. The thug lies crumpled on the pavement near the door.

Yang is just about to take off when he heaves himself up and calls out to her. “Hey, girlie!”

“Seriously?” she snaps. “This isn’t _over_?!”

“Mmph.” He struggles to his feet, clutching his side. “I heard you’re… looking for someone.”

Yang stares at him, and he grins widely. 

The gap where his tooth used to be is a black cavern. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wowwwww ok now that we've seen a bit of each girl, we're gonna get into the real stuff... prepare yourselves... I apologize in advance.
> 
> ~MercuryPoisoning


	5. Dirt

RNJR makes camp on a secluded outback not far from the scene of the Nuckelavee battle. They would’ve gone farther, but a stricken grief hangs around them like a concrete yoke, and, well - they have a dead body to deal with.

Ruby disappears for over twenty-four hours. When she finally shows up, she won’t meet anyone’s eyes and doesn’t speak any more than is strictly necessary. On the night following Qrow’s death, Ruby, Nora, Ren, and Jaune sit huddled around a fire together. No one has anything to say. They haven’t eaten much in the past day, but none of them have much of an appetite.

Ruby is hardly aware of her friends. She is lost in a sort of frozen haze, unable to process her surroundings; unable to visualize her past, her present, or her future. She hasn’t even cried yet. Is that wrong? Is she so much of a monster that she can’t even muster up a few goddamn tears for her dead uncle? She can’t decide. She doesn’t understand anything.

Everything she’s ever been taught, everything she’s experienced, all her thoughts and feelings and muscle memory - it’s all gone. She’s not even sure if she’s alive, herself, anymore. Maybe she’s become a living ghost. A phantom. Can her team even _see_ her? Is she even with them?

Nora is saying something. Everyone looks so upset. What is she _saying_?

“… do it eventually,” says Nora’s blurry, detached voice. Ruby stares at her blankly. Jaune replies, but Ruby is deaf again.

After a while she becomes aware that the other three are watching her, expectantly; a sense of irrational panic rises up in her stomach and she sits up violently, blinking her eyes hard several times. They’re dry and itchy. They won’t even _produce_ tears.

The sounds around her swim into focus. The crackling fire. The chirp of night insects. Far, far away, the howl of Grimm.

“Ruby,” Nora says gently.

Ruby focuses unsteadily on Nora’s face, observing the dark bags under her eyes. “Sorry… what did you say?” Ruby manages, and her voice cracks in an ugly way. Her throat is dry from disuse.

The three of them exchange a worried glance, as if they’re worried their words will break Ruby into a million little pieces. She waits patiently, wondering vaguely at their concern. It’s pointless. She’s clearly fine. She’s not even crying.

“Ruby… we need to bury Qrow,” Nora says gently. Jaune nods sombrely. Ren won’t meet her eyes.

Oh. They… need to bury… Qrow? Why would they…

“Why?” Ruby says, without meaning to.

Nora’s forehead wrinkles the tiniest bit and she opens her mouth to say something, but Ruby beats her to it.

“Wait. Sorry. No. I don’t… I just. Nothing.”

There’s an awkward pause. Ren and Nora are having some sort of silent conversation with their eyes, and Jaune scoots closer to Ruby as if intending to put an arm around her shoulders. She doesn’t acknowledge him. He doesn’t touch her.

Nobody else seems inclined to say anything, so Ruby tries again. “I mean. Yes. Of course we have to bury Uncle Qrow.”

“I guess we can look for a nice spot tomorrow,” Jaune suggests after another short pause.

“I guess so,” Nora sighs.

“There aren’t many ‘nice spots’ around here, though,” Ren pipes up. “At least, not anymore.” He exchanges a glance with Nora. Ruby might’ve questioned that, but at the moment she isn’t in a position to dwell on it.

A nice spot… there _is_ one around here. Somewhere. She can’t quite put her finger on it…

She’d been lurking about the fringes of the ghost town, wandering aimlessly, in a state of numbed shock. She vaguely remembers having to kill a Grimm at one point, but aside from that her memory is cloudy. Where was it… she’d collapsed somewhere… there’d been roots and scruffy grass… a tree.

“I know a place we can bury him,” Ruby announces, and her voice rings through the night.

***

Darkness is falling. A light drizzle has begun by the time RNJR makes it up to the spot in Ruby’s memory. Ren and Jaune carry Qrow’s body between them, carefully concealed beneath a blanket on a stretcher. Ruby hasn’t been able to summon the courage to look at him since she made it back to her team.

The spot, when they eventually find it, is magnificent. It’s an enormous, towering, ancient tree.

“Wow,” breathes Nora, craning her neck back and squinting up through the rain. “It’s beautiful.”

“You never see trees like this in Vale,” Jaune chimes in wonderingly.

“Mistral is an ancient ecosystem,” Ren says. “That’s why the agriculture and horticulture is so prosperous. All the native species and vegetation still thrive here, despite the spread of human civilization and war.”

Their boots crunch and squelch through the carpet of dead leaves on the forest floor. It seems to reverberate in the rain-slicked trees, refracting as it ripples through the small waterfalls created within the scars and rivets in the ancient tree’s bark. Ruby leads the funeral procession over its twisted roots, tracing her memory back to the place where she’d collapsed. The soft grass. The walls of root.

It seems to take ages, but eventually they make it about three-quarters around the tree’s base, to the Ruby-sized enclave between a thick area of roots and a little fairy hole in the trunk. The grass here is green and full; even sodden down by the rain it seems to offer a haven of warmth to travellers. Ruby climbs carefully over the rain-slippery roots, and feels the grass of the enclave sink down a little beneath her boots. She stands in the middle of it and gazes up, through the branches of the tree to the overcast sky. Rain hits her eyes and makes her wince, but she’s not paying attention. She’s thinking about Team RWBY, and Uncle Qrow, and wishing the grey would go out of her sky.

“Ruby,” Nora calls gently.

Ruby resents that gentle voice with all of her being. It’s nothing against Nora personally, but Ruby feels her pity like leprosy, and it suffocates her.

She moves, zombie-like, to perch on one of the root walls. Ren and Jaune set Qrow down a little ways away, beyond the thicker part of the roots, before moving to stand with her. Nora hops down into the grassy patch, expanding Magnhild in one smooth motion. Then she waits.

Crescent Rose unfolds with a hiss of metal and a whirr of gears. Feeling the weight of the forest’s breath on her shoulders, Ruby quickly steps down from the roots and buries the tip of her blade in the soft earth next them. Then she drags her weapon, still buried deep in the earth, around the entire perimeter of the grassy patch. She leaves about a foot and a half between her gash and the beginning of the root walls.

When she’s finished, it looks like a small rodent has made a trench around its battlefield. This line serves as a guide for Nora when she unleashes her explosive power on the healthy green grass.

Ruby, Jaune and Ren, standing a good two meters away from the danger zone, cover their eyes as dirt and grass goes flying. Jaune raises his shield above them as a shower of soil rains down - it’s an almost comical scene. Nora can be heard yelling “sorry!” from somewhere behind the dust cloud, and maybe Ruby would’ve laughed, but she doesn’t remember how.

And then they’re lowering Qrow Branwen into the gaping cavity that Nora has created, and everyone is crying. Except Ruby; she can’t cry. She can’t even breathe. Someone has removed the blanket and Qrow is bloodless and limp, his eyes shut lightly by someone’s thoughtful hand, his arms folded across his chest. He doesn’t look like himself. He’s an imposter, a dummy, a changeling. It’s not right.

Ren says something. Jaune says something. Nora says something. Ruby doesn’t hear any of it. They’re waiting for her words, something that will encourage them to go on, something that will give them closure - they need her leadership - they need to see and know that she is okay - security - THEY NEED IT! But Ruby can’t breathe.

“There’s something wrong,” Ruby says, but maybe she doesn’t actually say it. She supposes not, because no one is reacting. They’re all just watching her. _Waiting_.

“Guys,” she says, much louder, and this time the sound comes out for real. Her voice feels detached from her body. “We have to keep going. To Mistral. It’s hard, it’s so hard, but we need to finish what we started. Before anyone else gets hurt… before anyone else… before…” Ruby takes a deep, shuddering breath, and steers her point down a different track. “We have to keep going for Remnant’s sake. For Qrow’s sake. For _our_ sake.” There. She did it.

They look inspired. Comforted. Reassured. Confident that she spoke from the heart. As for Ruby herself, she isn’t sure if she believes herself at all anymore.

“Ruby’s right,” Jaune says, his voice threaded with little tremors. “Qrow wouldn’t have wanted us to let this slow our mission down. We don’t have much time. We must push on.”

Push on they did, as the wet earth thudded over Qrow Branwen’s lifeless form and the rain soaked them to the skin. The rain didn’t stop after it was all over; it kept up a steady tattoo all through the rest of the night and well into the next day. Fires and hot food were out of the question, as was any training. Sleep wasn’t easy currency either. Ruby wondered if pathetic fallacy was real after all. She wondered if it would ever stop raining. Flowers need the rain to grow, but water a rose too often and it will drown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup I'm back! Listen I apologize in advance if Ruby's chapters seem fragmented and not very emotion-heavy, I am merely trying to convey the state of shock she's in. There will be hugging and crying later in the game ;) 
> 
> Anyway I hope everyone's enjoying this so far. Lemme know what you think in the comments!
> 
> ~MercuryPoisoning


	6. Not Your Pet

The Atlesian cargo ship spins between the floating islands like an arrow launched too wide from a bow. Standing with her face to the open sky and the attacking Lancers, Weiss plants her feet far apart and channels her semblance with the ease of a seasoned huntress. She fires volley after volley at the swarming Grimm; fire and ice converge into a steady stream of power as the Grimm are knocked from the sky, buzzing helplessly. Weiss feels familiar exhilaration accompanying the sheer power she finds within herself.

The pilot is yelling and the Grimm are bearing down on them, but Weiss only feels triumph. Who would’ve thought, ten hours ago, that she’d be here on a cargo ship with a load of contraband dust and a hive of bloodthirsty Lancers on her heels? It’s just amazing.

In fact, Weiss only has luck to thank for getting her this far. That she was able to escape the manor, even with Klein’s help, is a miracle in itself. She wonders if her absence has been discovered yet. Will her father be angry? Sad? Relieved? She knows it’ll take a load off of Whitley’s mind, the useless suck-up. What about her mother? Will she care? Will she even be _notified_?

The ship gives a particularly violent lurch and Weiss is thrown sideways, startled from her musings. “What was that?” she yells back, flinging a wash of flame at the encroaching Grimm. Five of them tumble from the sky.

“We’re hooked!” the pilot yells back, and Weiss looks up to see two vicious spikes cut through the roof of the ship. She curses under her breath.

“I’ve got an idea!” he yells. “Hold on!” the ship changes course. “Literally!”

Weiss plants her feet in the centre of a glyph and waits. The ship hurtles straight towards an island, before flipping back at the last moment and sending the Grimm flying off. Weiss watches them fall to the sea in a shower of dislodged rocks and rubble. “Yes!” she mutters, before turning her attention back to the remaining Grimm. Struck with a sudden inspiration, she calls out, “Can you find a pair of islands we can fit between?”

A loud laugh. “Kid, you are reading my mind!”

The cargo ship changes course again, headed directly for a small rivet between two larger islands. Rocks from both sides grow loose when they zip in, hitting the ship in a shower before the larger boulders tumble down onto their pursuers.

Weiss holds her breath and watches the rocks fall, waiting for the deadly hit that never comes. The ship finds air on the opposite side, clearing the rivet with not a single Lancer in sight.

Shouts of relief and triumph explode from passenger and pilot, and Weiss lets her stance relax and her glyphs fade. She’s _exhausted_. In the rush and adrenalin of the battle, she hadn’t registered just how much of her semblance had gone into her attacks. She needs to learn how to syphon it, or maybe just… get stronger. _Yeah_. That’s it. She needs to be _much_ stronger than she is now.

But the relief is short lived. A ferocious hum and buzz of monstrous wings sends Weiss bolt upright again, only to be greeted with the pleasant sight of an enormous Lancer.

“Shit!” she yells. “It’s a _Queen Lancer_!”

“ _What_?” the pilot hollers back in dismay, but she’s not listening anymore. She drags her semblance back to life and sends a shockwave at the Queen. It is utterly unperturbed. Flaps open one by one all over its skin, and the thing shoots out hundreds of little spikes that fly at Weiss and lodge themselves in the ship’s hull. Dodging the shards, Weiss comes up with a plan. A spike grazes her cheek and warm blood drips off her chin, but Weiss doesn’t notice. She smirks and launches herself backwards, landing behind the stacks of dust crates. Cramming all her energy into her glyphs, she hurls the crates straight at the Queen.

An explosion of smoke and ice engulfs the Lancer, and Weiss feels sure this time. This is it. She’s won.

Well, it seems she’s wrong about that, _again_. Unscathed, the Queen Lancer emerges from the explosion and bears down on them with shocking speed.

Weiss watches its advance in utter dismay. How can she fight this thing? The damn bug just won’t die.

But then she remembers - her Knight.

Weiss finds an extra reservoir of strength somewhere deep inside herself. She shuts her eyes. She festers in her own anger. She thinks about Whitley, sitting all snug back in Atlas, meeting father’s business partners and inheriting the stupid Schnee Dust Company. From the centre of her spinning glyph, her Knight forms himself and brandishes his enormous blade, bowing low to his mistress.

_Perfect_. “Take her up!” Weiss orders the pilot, and she and her Knight flip onto the ceiling in perfect sync. When the ship has reached a vertical angle upwards, Weiss sends him out into the air. She shuts her eyes and transfers orders to him with her mind, moving him with the sheer force of her will. He falls towards the Queen, before dematerializing and reappearing beneath it. Landing on a glyph, he propels itself upwards and slices his blade right through the Lancer.

In a last jab at life, the Lancer sends one grappling hook towards the ship and knocks it completely off-balance. Weiss hears a thud from the pilot’s cabin. Her Knight slices twice, thrice; the Lancer disintegrates before her eyes. She lets her Knight go and then they are falling, falling, falling…

Weiss sends shield glyphs out in front of the ship to buffer their descent, but her strength gives out and the glyphs shatter. Smoke and the roaring of the failing engine overwhelm her senses. The world goes black.

***

It’s the thud of boots on hard-packed soil that shake Weiss from a haze of darkness and pain. She feels the cold earth on her bare legs, her hands, her left cheek. Her eyes won’t open. She forces them to.

There’s a stabbing pain in her right ankle - must be a sprain. The sound of boots grows clearer, and Weiss becomes aware of several presences towering above her. She heaves her torso off the ground and squints up into the dying sunlight - straight into the leering faces of bandits.

_Fuck_.

Dazed and confused, Weiss chokes out a feeble “Help!” and instantly regrets it. Her lungs are coated in smoke, and she heaves a rapid succession of wracking coughs. Worse still, one of the bandits chuckles cruelly.

“Well, well, well,” his companion sneers. “What have we got here?”

Weiss manages a faint glare before another bout of coughing seizes her.

“What d’you think of this, Raven?” one of the bandits calls behind his shoulder, and a new figure emerges from the shadows. She’s tall, emanates power; it’s clear that she’s the one in charge here. Her mane of black hair tumbles down to the small of her back, arcing above her forehead to accommodate a mildly terrifying mask. Her red eyes glint with awful familiarity. Weiss can’t quite put a finger on it, but…

“I think,” says the woman, her voice striking chords of recognition to Weiss’ pounding heart. “That we’ve hit the jackpot.”

Then her boot is speeding towards Weiss’ face, and she barely has time to wonder about this woman’s identity before the darkness summons her again.

***

Weiss wakes gradually to a sense of déja vu. She’s lying in the dirt again, but this time her wrists are bound - the coarse rope cuts into the soft skin on her inner wrists, and Weiss can already feel the flaming irritation. She hisses through her teeth and sits upright, ignoring the way her head throbs and spins.

She’s in a cage. A _cage_! Imagine that! Weiss Schnee, confined in a cage like some sort of wild animal. A little ways beyond the bars, the two bandits from before are sitting on a crate, laughing and sharing a bottle. They notice her. She seethes.

“Look who’s up!” cackles one, punching his companion and causing a mild spill in the process.

Weiss glowers at them. _Despicable_. “What is going on?!” she demands. “Where am I?”

“You know,” a new, unfamiliar voice chimes in. “I never thought I’d see a Schnee in this camp.”

“Vernal!” Hisses one bandit to another, and suddenly they are both sober as matrons, standing at attention with twin fear on their faces.

Vernal, or whatever, emerges from a hut just beyond Weiss’ cage. She’s young, with her brown hair cut short like a boy’s, and one of her pant legs is rolled all the way up to her mid thigh. Her eyes are an intense blue, arced over by bold, haughty eyebrows. Weiss thinks she looks like a total bitch.

But what really makes her blood boil, what really sets her in the deepest depths of hatred for this girl, is that Vernal is carrying Myrtenaster.

Weiss gets to her feet, unimpeded by the restriction of her hands. Vernal is running a hand up and down the sleek length of Myrtenaster’s blade, and Weiss hears the blood rush violently in her ears. Her eyes narrow dangerously.

“ _What_ do you want?” Weiss growls, fighting to keep her tone even.

“Straight to the point,” Vernal rejoins sarcastically. “I like it. We don’t usually deal in trafficking people. Not worth our time.” She pauses, raising Myrtenaster above her head to admire the blade. “But,” she goes on, “once we found out you were a Schnee… that changed.”

“You’re going to ransom me off to my father,” Weiss observes calmly. She wants to laugh at the sheer futility of the notion. If these people think they can get a single penny out of father in exchange for Weiss’ life, they’re _so_ wrong.

Vernal looks impressed. “It’s a shame you’re a Schnee,” she says silkily. “You’d probably do quite well around here!”

As _if_! Weiss leans towards her, smiling in faux-sympathy. “I would _never_ sink to your level,” she replies evenly.

To Weiss’ satisfaction, Vernal looks a little put off. Her expression goes hard. “Just keep quiet and co-operate, and you’ll be back in your mansion before you know it.”

Weiss laughs. She can’t help it. The whole situation is just so trivial - and it will never work out in these bandits’ favour. Nevertheless, an inkling of worry sneaks in; if, in the impossible chance that Weiss _is_ sent back to Atlas, all her efforts will be for nothing… and she’ll never see her team again. Yet still she laughs, finding a sick sort of pleasure in the vague discomfort that flits across Vernal’s haughty features.

Still, she realizes, if the bandits announce her ransom, Winter will certainly come for her.

“I’m sure you know my sister,” she remarks, letting her laughter simmer down. “Winter Schnee. She’s in Mistral right now. When she hears of this, it won’t take her long to find me… and you.”

Dead silence rings out, and Weiss feels sure that she’s struck a blow. But then, to her utter dismay, the bandits burst out laughing.

“What’s so funny?” Weiss snaps, a dreadful sort of unease creeping in.

“Oh,” Vernal chuckles. “I don’t know if it’s more funny or sad. You’re clearly not in the loop, little Miss Schnee. Your big sister isn’t in Mistral anymore - no Atlas personnel are in Mistral anymore. General Ironwood closed the borders and recalled all of his little troops in tin cans.” Vernal gets up close in Weiss’ face, leering through the bars. “ _No one_ is coming to rescue you.”

Winter… gone? _No way_. It can’t be… but Weiss finds her footing quickly, unwilling to show weakness in front of this scum. “Hmm, you’re right, I do seem to be rather out of the loop,” she muses. “but it doesn’t matter much in the end. You can do whatever you want, say whatever you want, to my father - it won’t make a difference. He won’t give up a penny of his precious money, and quite frankly?” she laughs bitterly. “He doesn’t give a rat’s ass whether I live or die.”

She’s definitely hit a nerve this time. Vernal stands straight, slinging Myrtenaster over her shoulder. “Whatever, princess. Keep your daddy issues to yourself. Like it or not, Raven _always_ get what she wants.” But she doesn't sound so certain anymore. Spinning on her heel, she stalks off into the night, and the two bandits follow her in uncertain silence.

Weiss sinks to her knees, her head reeling. The idea that Winter has been sent home from the front - that Winter is _gone_ \- is as unsettling as it is motivating. Well, if Winter can’t save her, she’ll just have to save herself.

Weiss concentrates hard. She burns with contained anger. And a baby glyph spins to life in the palm of her hand.

From the centre of the glyph, just as small yet just as potent, her Knight springs to life. He leaps from her palm and salutes her, his tiny blade held at the ready. She smiles without a trace of humour, and her anger grows.

It seems the world is intent on throwing every obstacle imaginable in her way. But she will not accept it. She’s had quite enough of people thwarting her plans, dragging her down, meddling in her affairs - it’s time to show them who’s really in charge. Treat Weiss Schnee like a wild animal in need of taming, and she will retaliate as such.

Her Knight shoots up a foot, his icy form glistening in the night. Weiss nods at him. First he slices the ropes that bind her wrists, and then he gets to work on the bars of the cage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa that was a lot of canon, sorry if it bored you to death. But the next time we see Weiss it's not gonna be pretty... it's actually gonna be REALLY ugly... don't say I didn't warn you.
> 
> Leave a comment if you feel like it!
> 
> ~MercuryPoisoning


	7. Bed Bugs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blake is back bitches

Sun is holding her hand now. Blake can’t find it within herself to care; she doesn’t care about his motives, she doesn’t care about the consequences of this small action. She’s just tired. Exhausted.

He notices, and wonders aloud if they should stop at an inn. She won’t let him. As long as there is light to travel by, the travelling must be done. Not that Blake wouldn’t be able to find her way by night - her night vision is quite proficient, but in the busy streets of Menagerie, it makes the most sense to travel by day. Slinking around at night will only arouse suspicion.

They travel via back alleys and quieter streets, hugging the outskirts of the city and keeping their heads down. Blake focuses on her heart rate. It’s still thumping faster than it should… not good, she chides herself inwardly. Blake has had her fair share of panic attacks, but she does her best to see them through away from prying eyes. It’s easier if she’s alone, and besides, she feels silly already for crying in front of Sun - she hates being so vulnerable. She hates looking at him and knowing that he’s seen her fall apart. She has no business unloading her emotions on him in such a violent manner. He doesn’t need that.

_Get it together_ , she scolds herself angrily. _He’s not even supposed to be here._

Darkness is beginning to set in when they come to the other side of the island. The lights of a small tavern gleam warmly some ways before them, and Blake nudges Sun wordlessly. She’s ready to drop. And what better place to collect information than from the loose lips of the bottom of a beer bottle?

Inside, it’s very warm. The rust-coloured oak floorboards creak and give slightly beneath their feet. Blake becomes uncomfortably aware of the way her heels are striking the old floor, making a _click-CLACK_ noise that seems dreadfully loud over the soft murmur of the nearly-deserted room. Upon their entry, several heads swivel to stare - the space by the door is taken up by rough-looking men who eye her up and down. Blake squares her shoulders and marches right up to the bar, Sun in tow.

“Just act natural,” she hisses under her breath. “Pretend like you belong here.”

“Speak for yourself,” he murmurs, amused, before calling up the bartender and ordering a margarita with the ease of a regular patron.

“Sun!” Blake chides, alarmed. “We aren’t here to get drunk!”

“Flatten your fur, kitty cat,” he retorts. “I’m thirsty.”

Blake lets out a nervous breath. Maybe she _does_ need to calm down. She’s never been one for this sort of situation. When the bartender returns with Sun’s drink, she catches his attention and tries to look confident. He’s a bear of a man - all beard and biceps.

“Could we have a room?” she asks.

“Yup,” grunts the bartender, barely looking up at her. He lumbers out of the bar and yells to someone in the back of the house. When he returns, he has a key for them, on whose ring is a tag with a handwritten room number.

“Thanks,” Blake says politely. He grunts in reply and goes back to wiping glasses.

Swivelling in her barstool, Blake surveys the room. Flickering lamps mounted on the wall create shadows that play across the various faces. A group of older men are playing a rowdy game of poker in the far left corner, right next to the door. Not far from them, two young women are sharing a drink; they must be the huntresses, Blake observes, her sharp eyes discerning the glint of a blade hilt protruding from a boot. As she watches, the taller one reaches across the table and tucks a stray lock of hair behind her companion’s ear, affection glittering in her eyes. Blake looks away quickly and continues her surveillance of the bar.

The right side of the room is more sparse, seating a few men in worker’s clothing scattered about in twos and threes. There’s a group of younger men sitting near her; one of them winks when she accidentally meets his gaze. Her eyes narrow and her ears flatten slightly. He appears to be sufficiently intimidated, returning hastily to the conversation of his friends.

A sharp nudge to her side jolts Blake from her musings. “Ow!” she exclaims, turning to glare at Sun. But he’s not watching her - his eyes are narrowed, shifting uneasily towards something behind her. She follows his gaze to the far right corner of the room. Two figures sit in isolated darkness, the lamp above them sputtering out its death throes.

“So?” she demands. “What do you see?”

“Look closer,” he mutters, sounding oddly irritated. “You’re the feline here.”

Blake turns her gaze back to the figures, allowing her vision to bring out their forms. One of them has a large pair of ears. They’re wearing matching outfits, consisting of a red hood and black-and-white priestlike robes. They sit with unusual poise and appear to be engaged in deep conversation. She recognizes the uniforms instantly.

“It’s the White Fang!” she hisses, ears flattening. _What are they doing in a place like this?_

“Keep your voice down,” Sun whispers, wrapping his tail around his drink and taking a casual sip.

“They’re from the brotherhood.” Blake turns back to the bar. “But what could they be doing here? They should be polishing Sienna Khan’s boots, not lurking in shady bars.”

“Maybe we should go beat them up,” Sun suggests. She can hear the anger in his voice.

Blake bristles. “Absolutely not. If they escape, our cover is blown.”

She does her best to maintain a blank exterior, but Blake can’t quell the stinging bitterness that rises into her throat. Those men destroyed her school. Tore her team apart. Tore _Yang_ apart -

“Let’s go up to our room,” Blake says loudly, interrupting her own thoughts. She stands abruptly and strides away, not looking to see if Sun is following. Her pulse is racing, blood roars in her ears - they’re _right there_ , she could kill them right now - she could decimate them in an instant - the _filth_ \- !

“Hey,” Sun calls from behind her. “Blake!”

She rounds on him, fairly spitting fury. “ _What_?!”

His eyes widen, and she feels an instant stab of remorse. “What?” she repeats shakily, in a much quieter tone.

“Our room is down this hallway,” he says warily, pointing down a dark corridor to his left. Blake nods, averting her gaze and following him in silence. He doesn’t ask questions. At least, not until they’re safe behind their flimsy wooden door.

“What’s wrong?” he asks carefully, shutting and locking the door behind them. But Blake is no longer listening. She takes one look at the room and feels her heart sink.

There’s only one bed.

“What’s - oh, haha…” Sun trails off, finally noticing the unfortunate situation.

“I just assumed he’d give us two,” Blake huffs, irritation swelling. “Y’know, because there are _two_ of us.”

“I think _he_ just assumed we wanted one!” Sun sounds rather choked, clearly trying to contain his mirth. Blake glares at him. He loses it. His hair falls all over his face as he laughs, clutching his stomach at though he might burst.

“Shut up,” she grumbles, genuinely irritated. “It doesn’t even matter, seeing as how there’s a couch too.” And with that, she jumps onto the bed and flops back, letting her coat fan out to cover the entire surface.

Sun isn’t laughing anymore. “You call that a couch?” he demands in astonished tones. “That’s a bench at the very least! How can I get my beauty sleep on _that_?”

The offending object is indeed a kind of elongated bench, as wide and long as a man, with no backrest, and furnished with a uncomfortable-looking cushion. Blake gathers up the extra blanket from the end of the bed and tosses it at him. “I’m on the bed first, therefore it is mine.”

“Aww, come on, Blakey,” he whines. “Surely you don’t mean to make this sexy hunk sleep on a cold, hard bench? I mean, wouldn’t you rather have me _with_ _you_ in that bed?”

“Shut _up,_ Sun,” Blake snaps, her patience wearing thin. How _dare_ he speak to her like that? “I’ll take the goddamn bench if you want the bed so bad. Cut the bullshit.”

He looks genuinely hurt this time, but Blake has run completely out of sympathy. It’s late, she’s had a god-awful day, the White Fang are right outside their door, and all the fool can do is make greasy jokes about the _fucking bed_?! She has half a mind to just kick him out. He’s not even supposed to be here.

But no… she’s being unreasonable, isn’t she? He’s only joking around. Maybe she’s just angry at him for seeing her fall apart over Yang - and whose fault is that? Certainly not his. He did his best to calm her down. Sun may be annoying, but he’s a steadfast, true friend and she has no right to treat him so terribly. Jeez… she’s such an awful person.

“I’m sorry,” Blake manages quietly after a moment. “I’m just… I’m just angry for no reason. Sorry. You can have the bed.”

There’s a pregnant pause. Blake looks everywhere but Sun, feeling totally miserable, and wanting nothing more than to sleep off this rollercoaster of a day. After what seems like forever, he finally speaks. His voice is gentle, without a trace of anger in it - this only makes Blake feel worse.

“Keep the bed,” he says. “I’m sorry for being an annoying prick.”

_I’m sorry for treating you like shit all the time_ , Blake wants to say. She doesn’t. Sun disappears into the shower, and Blake lies staring up at the ceiling. She hasn’t even taken her boots off yet.

At length, she realizes that no matter how tired she is, she’s a thousand times hungrier. Her stomach growls out in agreement. They haven’t eaten much today - Sun must be famished too.

She’ll go back into the bar and order food to bring back with her as a peace offering.

Satisfied with her decision, Blake leaves the room quietly when she hears the shower turn on. She finds her way easilyback through the corridor to the lamp-lit bar. The occupancy has risen, and the energy has gone up - a clock on the wall reads 11:42pm. All her senses hit high alert, and she scans the crowd with narrowed eyes. _Where are they_ …?

_There_! Sienna Khan’s boot-shining White Fang are still holding the fort in their shadowed corner, but now there’s someone else with them. Her back is to Blake, and all she can see is a small frame and a long brown ponytail. To Blake’s horror, the young woman seems suddenly to sense her presence - she begins to turn around - Blake cannot look away -

The woman is wearing a Grimm mask.

Breathing suddenly becomes incredibly difficult. Ducking her head, Blake slips in behind a standing crowd of men and loses sight of the White Fang. She hastily orders two bowls of noodles and retreats to a corner of the bar, tapping her fingers nervously on the wooden countertop. The huntresses from earlier are getting intimate a few feet away. It was a huge mistake to stay here, she realizes; how utterly, completely idiotic of her. The two men looked peaceful enough, but if Blake knows anything, it’s that no White Fang can be trusted. And now there’s another one - one who is clearly in cahoots with Adam’s faction. With a mask like that… no, there’s simply no doubt about it.

A cold shiver runs down her spine. They’re _right there_. Mere meters from her. And if they’re working for Adam, there’s no way that woman didn’t recognize her. She should grab Sun right now and get the hell out of dodge.

Or… she could stay. She’s come here for a lead, hasn’t she? Maybe the woman didn’t recognize her. If Blake can see her leave, follow her… she’ll lead them right to Adam. Blake is sure of it. Determination renewed, she pulls up the collar of her coat around her mouth. _Good enough_. Then she slips out of the corner, plants herself on a barstool, and waits for her noodles.

They come at last, two steaming bowls of ramen, one with a large fried fish on top. Blake’s eyes widen at that, saliva flooding her tongue; the bartender winks at her, and Blake’s pretty sure she’s fallen in love with him at this point. She gives him significantly more money than the noodles are worth and practically runs back to her room.

Sun is emerging from the shower wearing only a towel, but Blake doesn’t notice. “Eat up,” she says hurriedly, plopping the bowls on their little night-table. “Adam’s here!”

“I’m literally naked!” he exclaims. “And you tell me _Adam Taurus_ is _here_??”

Blake’s mouth is too full of fish to respond coherently. She makes noises and waves her chopsticks around, but he doesn’t get it. She’s finished the entire fish by the time he’s done yanking on his clothes, yelling all the while; he’s positively leaking alarm.

“How can you sit there eating noodles if Adam is _here_?” he demands, aghast, Ruyi Bang and Jingu Bang already brandished in staff form.

“Put that away,” Blake manages around a mouthful. “Eat your noodles. Quickly. Adam’s not here, but someone who can take us to him is.”

Blake explains while they gobble their noodles, and it’s a mere fifteen minutes before Sun burps and sets his empty bowl down. Blake is fidgeting, all exhaustion vanished in the wake of adrenaline, and wondering if she should’ve stayed in the bar despite Sun. What if the henchmen are gone now…?

Thankfully, the Fang are still huddled around their dark table. In compliance with a hastily-formed plan, Blake slips outside to wait on the roof while Sun keeps watch inside. It would be safer, they agreed, to have Blake out of sight - she has infinitely more chance of being recognized than Sun does. If there’s trouble inside, she’ll be able to block the exit and confront the White Fang. She hopes it doesn’t come to that.

The night is heavily dark. Clouds have obscured the stars. When Blake was growing up here, she’d often sneak onto the balcony at night to stargaze - the stars out here are stunning, a huge wash of glittering silver bursting across the sky like an enormous, celestial firework. As it is, only the moon has managed to shine through, its broken shards illuminating the roof coldly. The humid air smells like encroaching rain. Blake shivers in the heat and shifts her crouched position restlessly.

She’s drifting off into scattered thought when the door suddenly slams open, and a long square of golden light illuminates the ground below her. Blake is instantly on the alert, creeping closer to the edge of the roof to peer down at the door. Sure enough, the young woman with the long ponytail is striding out the door - but the priests aren’t with her. Blake hesitates uncertainly, watching the woman move away into the dark with sure, light-footed steps. Maybe Sun ought to stay behind and watch the men…

But it’s too late for re-strategizing, for Sun has just left the tavern and he’s slipping silently after the woman. The men will have to be dealt with later. Rising to her feet, Blake crests the roof and runs along its peak, keeping an eye on Sun to follow his progress. He’s moving quickly, and Blake finds herself roof-hopping more than she’d like. They’re on the outskirts of Menagerie here. At any given point she may be forced to regain the ground.

In fact, Blake is still following Sun’s shadow when the buildings end. Before them stretches a long forest. With reluctance, Blake leaps silently to the dirt-packed road, nodding to Sun before slipping slightly away from him to continue after the young woman in the Grimm mask.

They slink through the shadows, allowing the shifting moonlight to dapple them with natural camouflage. The woman is a few meters ahead, and moving just as stealthily; more so, perhaps. There’s something quite strange about her. She almost seems to blend in without effort - without needing to leap from shadow to shadow, she moulds perfectly into the uncertain landscape of the forest. She’s like a chameleon. Every now and then Blake completely loses sight of her and feels a flash of panic, before she again makes out a ripple of movement ahead, and relaxes.

The forest is thick, the undergrowth treacherous, and Blake is in constant fear that Sun will step on a branch. Ironic, that she trusts herself not to, yet can’t trust him. Yang would’ve definitely destroyed something by now…

_No. Don’t think about her_.

At length the woman disappears again, and Blake slows, squinting into the darkness ahead of her. There’s no movement. No sign of her. A glance at Sun tells her that he’s equally confused, and she clears the distance between them as swiftly as she dares.

“Where’d she go this time?” Blake whispers, barely audible.

“I don’t know. But there’s light ahead.”

Sure enough, a gleam of yellow light is leaking through the trees a few meters before them. Acting on a shared instinct, the pair slow their advance, taking care to keep in the shadows of the trees, lest their own shadows give them away. Blake can hear her own heartbeat in her ears. _He_ is nearby, she can _feel_ it - he could be behind any one of these trees -

The trees thin. The light spreads. Before them, an enormous warehouse cuts through the monotony of forest.

Blake feels her breath catch in her throat. Not ten yards from her and Sun, three White Fang guards are sitting around a large lantern close to the building, their Grimm masks turned ghostly by the harsh light. Sun grabs Blake’s arm and pulls her behind a tree. She’s quivering from head to foot. It’s rage, terror, elation - it’s _so much_ and it’s because they’re finally here. They’ve found _him_.

And then, as they watch, the young woman emerges from a clump of trees not far from their own and strides over to the guards. The masked figures call out friendly greetings, and she raises a hand in cool return before joining them around the lamp. She slips off her mask and uses her free hand to push back stray hair, and then she turns towards the man sitting next to her - her face is in profile now…

Blake cannot control the harsh gasp that shoots from her throat.

She’d recognize that face anywhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey yall, I'm back... sorry for being gone for months aha. I had lost inspiration for this story for a while, but now I've got it back! Expect plenty of updates in the near future.
> 
> Also I'm sorry about all the weirdness between Sun and Blake, I'm trying to develop their relationship a bit differently in preparation for a certain incident that is soon to come. I apologize if this results in Sun behaving OOC or anything. 
> 
> Welp... hope you enjoyed! Lemme know down below :)))
> 
> ~MercuryPoisoning


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